Listen I'm bob being funny bu dese days habbing children is becided by wha dhey call ba babymubba id's on dem so why o'why shoul dhey geb a reward for brocreation nobobby abblauds me if I hab a crab do dhey we don neeb anubba human bein in ba UK do be born wha wi ba current stade ob immigrasian bobulation exblosion que sera etc ba highes densidy in Eurob we are!!! blus fabilies use more serbices and bay less dhan beoble like yrs druly who ged screwed yed again by ba sysdem dhough abmibbedly nob by ba babymubba.

I and other members of the Kevin McCloud Appreciation Society recently held an online poll to determine our Top 10 Kevin McCloud moments. They are as follows:

1. Sceptical frown in beanie.

2. Quizzical pout in hard hat.

3. Chuckling at construction timetable.

4. Conspiratorial whispering in deserted Italian kitchen.

5. Facial paralysis after saying 'gosh'.

6. Squinting at recalcitrant German roof.

7. Caressing seasoned oak beam with faraway gaze.

8. Shimmy of head as 'spontaneous thought' occurs.

9. Sighing, forgetting to breathe in again, passing out.

10. Asking 'but will it...work?' then getting hit in face by plank.

I AM WRITING TO TELL YOU WHAT TOTAL SHITS YOU ARE WHERE DO YOU GET OFF TREATING PEOPLE LIKE GOLDFISH-BRAINED SPUNKBUBBLES YOU THINK WE DON'T REMEMBER WE DO REMEMBER SADDAM WASN'T 100% WRONG BUT I GO FURTHER SHIT-BATHER YOU SHIT IN THE BATH FOR WEEKS THEN YOU BATHE IN YOUR OWN SHIT AM I MAKING MYSELF CLEAR MY SON A NIGERIAN PRINCE IS PARALYSED I WRITE TO YOU FOR HELP BUT NOT EVEN AN ACKNOWLEDGEMENT DEATH IS TOO GOOD FOR PEOPLE LIKE YOU I WOULD LIKE TO KILL YOU THEN EAT YOU THEN SHIT YOU OUT THEN SPREAD YOU OVER MY RHUBARB THEN HARVEST THE RHUBARB WITH YOUR DNA IN IT THEN COOK THE RHUBARB THEN EAT IT AND SHIT IT OUT AGAIN THAT'S NOT AN ERECTION IN YOUR PYJAMAS YOU SPECCY MINGEPLUG IT'S AN URBAN FOX SHITS YOU ARE ALL SHITS.

As your ex-boyfriend I would like to apologise unreservedly for my behaviour last night. I was wankered. OK, I was beyond wankered. I was fuckered. But I honestly did not arrive at the pub intending to insult your friends or squeeze your Mum's breasts making a squeaking noise or accidentally piss in her handbag. I totally accept that when your new boyfriend punched me and called me a 'pizzling fucking numpty knobshaft' he was merely reflecting a general consensus. I say 'new', he's receding a bit isn't he? Anyway, sorry. Please let everybody know I have now enrolled myself on a pub anger management course to avoid incidents like this occuring in the future. And you can tell your gay boyfriend the next time he punches me I will have been on my pub anger management course so will know all the pub anger moves. If he doesn't watch it he'll end up with a fucking bar stool in the neck. And a pewter tankard in his fucking face. And a pool cue up his arse. And an optic up his cob. And darts in his tits. And dominoes up his fucking nostrils. And flaming Sambucco in his fucking ears. And a pickled fucking egg in his vagina of a mouth. Sorry again.

As a dribbling pensioner and former terrorist in slacky pants and a string vest at the allotments, I can tell yez this recession will NOT bring back the 1970s. Now it's all Arabs with laptops and mobile phones. Ach, pine all yez like for the good old days when a couple of Irish lads and a Cortina full of Semtex was all yez needed. Them days are gone like the rare old mountain dew, skiddle idle diddle dum skiddle idle diddle dum skiddly um dum diddly aye the list is endless.